


But Now Thy Songs Are Silent

by samiraxlula



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Detective Comics (Comics)
Genre: Batman: Knightfall, Bruce Wayne Has PTSD, Bruce Wayne Whump, Cute Jason Todd, Dead Jason Todd, Flashbacks, Gen, Grieving Bruce Wayne, Jean-Paul Valley is Batman, Pre-New 52, Tim Drake is Robin, Tired Alfred Pennyworth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:26:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25688044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samiraxlula/pseuds/samiraxlula
Summary: Bedridden, paralyzed and broken by Bane, the second anniversary of Jason's death falls upon Wayne Manor and its owner.
Relationships: Alfred Pennyworth & Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 2
Kudos: 51





	But Now Thy Songs Are Silent

**Author's Note:**

> Just to remind: this is all set in the pre-New 52. Also, in Batman Annual #13, Bruce was shown to keep a picture of Jason next to his bedside after his death. Will I use that forever in my stories? Absolutely.

The Manor was eerily quiet these days, the occupants all still reeling from the traumatic events that took place in their city and even right in their own home.

Alfred Pennyworth, the lifelong family butler, made his way upstairs into the eastern wing, where the austere white walls and heavy draperies gave the house a cold, unwelcoming feel.

He couldn't help but notice how the valuable antiques, tapestries, and paintings gracing the halls all made the place seem hushed and lifeless—less like a home and more like a museum, especially with the lack of children laughing and cartwheeling through the halls. 

Pushing open the large oak door which barred the entrance to the wing, Alfred brought the meal tray he was carrying into the richly appointed bedroom.

While it wasn’t quite the master bedroom, itself having been locked on the request of his charge after the murder of the Wayne couple who had occupied it previously, the pricy china, vases, and other knick-knacks adorning the room made it seem greater than. 

However, despite all its opulence, the room was dimly lit and quiet as a tomb, reflecting the state of the man laid upon the bed motionlessly, a neck brace secured tightly around his neck and a wheelchair parked in the corner.

Though the elderly butler himself hadn’t properly rested once since Bane had invaded the estate, it pained him more to see how shattered the man he raised was. 

What didn’t help was the small desk calendar resting on the nightstand beside the bed which revealed the date to be in late April, a fact that undoubtedly increased both men’s anguish, as a certain death in the family had now reached its anniversary of two years, the child who had been lost also framed on the very same stand. 

“Ah...wonderful to see you awake, sir. Might I suggest a spot of dinner? You haven't eaten a thing since last night.”

“I'm not hungry,” Bruce’s voice was a hoarse whisper.

Alfred was unintimidated. “Perhaps so, but also quite beside the point. You must keep up your strength—”

“For what reason?” Bruce countered, his breath coming out weak and whistling despite the nasal cannula supplying him with oxygen. “He’s won, Alfred. He broke me. I’m not Batman anymore.”

“Yes, you’ve passed on the mantle to Jean-Paul, I hear.” Alfred set down the tray on a side table before placing a straw in a glass for the man to drink assisted. “Perhaps such a thing will ease your mind for the time being while you recuperate.”

Bruce didn’t respond and only took a few sips to satisfy Alfred before requesting to be left alone again, along with having the lights turned off so that he could be in darkness. It was a small comfort to him that he hadn’t many aside from, being in such pain.

Pain was usually good in his life. If it hurt, it meant he wasn't dead. But these days...he felt dead anyway despite his physical condition. 

Turning his head as much as he could manage without straining himself, Bruce glanced upwards to look outside the rain-streaked window of his bedroom and at the blurred lights of the city far beyond.

The weather-man on the radio Alfred had left playing for him was saying that there was a storm coming down south that might reach Gotham by morning. Maybe he should tell Tim and Jean-Paul to prepare for the strong weather while on patrol.

Or maybe not.

While still gazing out onto the gloomy Gotham night sky, the distant end of the bat-signal beam’s oval could be seen bright and unwavering amidst the rainfall and smog, reminding him of everything that he’d lost.

*

“Broke...me…”

Strapped to the gurney as the combined efforts of Alfred, Tim and Jean-Paul brought him up the stairs and into the above-ground manor, Bruce had become a completely broken man, having pushed himself well beyond his limits, exhausted and stretched thin even before having been snapped like a twig against Bane’s knee. 

“Couldn’t win...lost everything…”

He stared up towards nothing with pain-soaked eyes, his wild convulsions calming as he seemed to surrender to the pain, gasping through the oxygen mask.

“Gordon’s...turned against me, Vicki left too…and Jason...oh, god... _Jason_ —my boy...he’s _dead_ …”

The glass case was smashed in the infiltrated cave below and what was left of Batman had clutched the fallen yellow cape in those last moments he could stand before Bane had effortlessly lifted him high above his head, raised his knee and smashed him down over it. 

_“You are already broken,”_ Bane had said. 

He had been right. There was nothing left of him that wasn’t.

*

Jason had been on his mind often these past few gruelling months as the second anniversary of his death neared closer and closer, and after a long procession of taking down Arkham escapee after escapee, with all their cunning drool-garbled snarls of paranoia and revenge while terrorizing the city he protected without sleep. 

Firefly, Mad Hatter, Zsasz, Scarecrow, all until finally, he came face to face with the most depraved sadist who ever lived—whose terrifyingly maniacal grin was probably the last thing his son ever saw.

His son. His greatest failure for not being able to keep safe. He should have been faster, should have done more when he knew the boy was dealing with so much on his own, after the Cult and Gloria and finding out about his mother...why hadn’t he done _more_?

Although his muscles had previously been sluggish and trembling, his energy completely sapped to the point his head was spinning, the Bat snapped upon seeing the Joker in the service tunnel again after all this time. 

Since Ethiopia. Since Superman had pulled him from the waters alone after the helicopter crashed. Since his later return after a fake Joker had appeared and both him and Jim resolved to kill the clown, only to finally throw him back into Arkham.

He remembered the harsh wind blowing the heat from the explosion against his face then. He remembered the sound of Jason’s scream. He also remembered the caring, the admiration, the love. He had wondered if Jason would have hated him for that moment of weakness.

So as Bruce lay there in complete darkness, all fractured spine, internal bleeding and broken heart, the man closed his eyes and succumbed to all the sedating pain medications Doctor Kinsolving had put him on. 

_“I miss him…”_

*

Bruce let himself into the Manor through the front entrance and stood in the foyer. It was a place he had known since his earliest memories began, and yet, though he'd only been gone from it only a short while, returning from an overseas business trip, it sometimes seemed not quite real to him, like a stage set with very expensive props. 

He remembered Alfred comparing his life to a grand opera and smiled, his resting serious face melting slightly when he recalled what he had returned home earlier than promised for.

Clearing his throat, Bruce loosened his tie and ran a hand through his styled dark hair before: “JASON.”

There was a sound of a ‘yip!’ and running footsteps coming from the main staircase before a small boy came zipping down the bannister, all robin magic and bright beams, before launching off the end of the handrail for Bruce to catch him. Which he always did, of course. 

“You’re home!” The child grinned, breathy and excited, his curls dishevelled from whatever exploration he had been busy with earlier. “Did you bring back a souvenir from Japan? You promised.”

While the billionaire would have normally raised a stern brow at his son’s chosen mode of travel, he missed his youthful exuberance enough to let it slip. “I forgot.” He shrugged, letting the disappointed boy down to settle his feet onto the floor.

“How about we go see a baseball game instead. I bought tickets to make it up to you.” Running a hand through Jason’s hair before ruffling it, the crestfallen expression on his face immediately turned upwards, all sharp-eyed and deducing. 

“You didn’t really bring back nothing, did you?”

“No,” Bruce conceded his ruse with a chuckle. “Your souvenir is in the car as promised.”

“Which one?” Jason scoffed a laugh before sprinting ahead, and further away from Bruce.

**Author's Note:**

> Although there is a 'Dead Jason Todd,' tag, that's just according to Bruce's knowledge. We all know that isn't true since he's currently doing the whole "Lost Days" run, and is kind of what I tried referencing with the "—further away from Bruce" line.


End file.
